


Canvassing Galaxies and Drawing Maps

by Cloudnine101



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, For Science!, Insecurity, Light Angst, M/M, Romance, Scientist Carlos (Welcome to Night Vale), Sleep-Induced Conversations, Stars, Their Love Is So
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-02
Updated: 2015-05-02
Packaged: 2018-03-26 19:15:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3861523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cloudnine101/pseuds/Cloudnine101
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'"You are wonderfully handsome," is Cecil's next comment. </p><p>Carlos spins around, almost dropping the tinned spaghetti chunks. "Err...what?"'</p>
            </blockquote>





	Canvassing Galaxies and Drawing Maps

When Carlos gets back, Cecil is lying on the couch, with a bag of frozen peas over his eyes. His hair is stuck to his forehead; his sleeves are rolled up to the elbows, revealing long, bony strips of pale skin. There are veins, showing through them.

Carlos stares. Blinks. Stares some more. Swallows.

"Uh," he says. "Cecil? What - are you-"

"Headache," the man answers, in a low, deep breath.

Carlos turns away; busies himself with the wallpaper, for no apparent reason. Placing the bags down on the desk, he begins to unpack. His hands only shake slightly.

There is a creak, and a rustle, and a plop. "Carlos? Are you alright?"

And there it is - Carlos. Carlos. _Carlos_.

By now, he really ought to be used to this. 

"Yes. I'm fine. Completely." Setting a stick of celery down, he narrows his eyes at it. In the time the walk has taken, it was turned pink. "There was a flying saucer, outside the supermarket. It was...interesting. I didn't think they could make those noises."

"Really?" Cecil asks, settling back against the cushions. He places the peas down next to him; they click together, inside the packet. Even after Cecil stops touching them, they rattle. Carlos nods. "Huh. I thought that had gone."

"Apparently not."

There is a brief hush, in which a bead of sweat trickles down Carlos's forehead, and falls into the neck of his shirt. He can feel it move.

"You are wonderfully handsome," is Cecil's next comment.

Carlos spins around, almost dropping the tinned spaghetti chunks. "Err...what?"

"I - uh-" Suddenly, Cecil seems to find the carpet incredibly interesting. He's started stuttering again; his lips are moving, but he's not making any sound. He looks like a fish, flopping around, with no water in sight. This is a reasonable enough analogy, Carlos thinks. They are, after all, in the middle of a desert - despite the dock.

Carlos crosses the room, the floorboards creaking below him, and takes a seat. On the couch, Cecil shifts away. The light from the window tints his face pink, and purple, and brown. "Cecil," Carlos says. "Talk to me."

"I just - I-" Cecil's eyes flicker over the room, landing on every object within aside from Carlos. It's a little disorientating. "I get so flustered around you, Carlos. Quite frankly, I'm beginning to worry about it. It can't be natural, to get this...this..."

"Worked up?"

Cecil's head bobs; up, and down, and up again. Carlos chuckles. The other man frowns. "This is no laughing matter. I think it must be some kind of ailment. You don't think it could be my Lyme's, do you? Not that I have that anymore. I got some cream, and I sorted it all out. If that's how it works. You don't have to worry - if you were - I'm not saying-"

Cecil is cut short, by Carlos's finger against his lips. "Cecil. Stop."

"Sorry," he says. His voice is muffled. In Carlos's chest, a warm something stirs, nuzzling its way towards his throat.

"I don't care about your Lyme's, Cecil. You could have three heads, or ten feet, or - or yellow skin, and I wouldn't care. You could see angels, and I'd think twice before reporting you to the Council."

Cecil smiles, at that. Carlos counts it as a victory. Somehow, they have gravitated towards one another. It's almost as though Cecil's centre of mass is somehow larger than other people's. No matter how Carlos tries, he can't get away from it - so, he orbits, and they orbit, and that's just the way it is.

"You're thinking too much," Cecil says, quietly. They're sitting elbow to elbow, now; bodies pressed together. Cecil's sleeve is still up. His bare skin is perfectly smooth. "I can tell."

"Maybe." Carlos resists the urge to run, or scream, or grow wings and fly away. Somehow, that's actually a possibility, now. Between his ribs, he can feel his heartbeat rattle. He's no biologist, but he's pretty certain it's not meant to move that fast.

Cecil is smiling at him. His teeth are level, and white. The sunlight's making his cheekbones stand out. There are crinkles, around his eyes. Really, it's not fair that he looks...like that. Ordinary people don't. Carlos certainly doesn't - no matter what Cecil says. He's not unattractive, per se...it's just that...well. He isn't Cecil.

"Can you hear it?"

Carlos strains his ears. Outside, there is the buzzing of traffic; a steady, gentle hum. He can imagine Cecil picking them out to him, even now. Red car, blue car, yellow car - pink stripes, red spots, eight wheels, two wings.

"Hear what?" he asks.

Cecil's eyes are very, very blue; not so much sapphire, as a darker shade. Carlos has never wished to be an artist, before. In an instant, is hit with the indescribable longing to pick up a piece of paper, and commit his memories to canvas. It feels faintly like he's been hit by a rain, before being trampled by a herd of rampaging horses, and promptly scattered into a thousand drops of falling rain.

Vaguely, Carlos wonders how he knows about that sensation - but it doesn't matter. Not with Cecil watching, and so close, and so...Cecil.

It must be the weather. It's always changeable, here.

"Your breathing," Cecil says, softly, against his fingertip. "Your heartbeat. You."

In his throat, Carlos's breath catches. "Cecil-"

Cecil's blue eyes are wide - like planets, or tears, or the great, grey moon.

Suddenly, there are a lot of things Carlos wants to tell him.

He wants to tell him that the body is made up of atoms, which are made up of protons and neutrons and electrons, which are made up of quarks.

He wants to tell him that when light passes through a prism, it refracts - so that all the colours of the rainbow are separated, and you can see every single one.

He wants to tell him that the Earth is constantly spinning, at hundreds of metres per second (four hundred and sixty, to be precise), and that as it spins, it is orbiting the Sun - and so are all the other planets, Mercury and Venus and Jupiter and Saturn and Uranus and Neptune and even Pluto, which doesn't count as a proper planet at all, because it's too small to count.

He wants to tell him that he is loved - that he has been loved - that he always will be loved, as long as glowing balls of hydrogen are shining, and rabbits chase one another across desert plains, and the Night Vale Public Reservoir ceases to contain water.

"You," Carlos says, instead, "are brilliant. Scientifically speaking."

Cecil's mouth falls open, at one side. He doesn't seem to be aware of it.

Carlos leans closer, and, placing one hand atop the frozen peas, claims Cecil in a kiss.

Cecil's lips are dry; there are flecks of chap, in the corners. He stiffens, for a second, against Carlos's touch; and then he melts into it. Long fingers come up, and trace Carlos's jaw, running through his stubble. Really, he should've shaved, before now - but then Cecil's inside his mouth, hot and wet and sticky, and tasting of sugar and cheap wine and dental floss - and Carlos can't find it in himself to care, anymore.

Cecil's breath comes in warm puffs, against Carlos's mouth. Slowly, Carlos reaches for his shirt-buttons - undoes the first one, and then the second. Cecil catches on, after a moment. He startles; momentarily, Carlos is reminded of a deer, caught in the glare of headlights.

"Can I - ah-"

Carlos takes those hands in his; guides them downwards, over to his chest. Cecil's cheeks are flushed pink. There was to be a shade, somewhere out there, that will match them. All Carlos has to do is find it, and he'll be a rich man.

"Go ahead," Carlos says. "I mean - sure. Sure thing. Err."

Cecil's hands are quivering, as he grips the third popper. It takes him three attempts; but the third is done, and the fourth, and the fifth, and the sixth. Cecil's breath is warm, against Carlos's cheek. Technically, they're too close - and yet, they're not close enough. Carlos is fully aware of what a cliché this is. It doesn't stop him, however, from leaning closer.

Cecil's chest is rising and falling - faster and faster and faster, until Carlos tugs their bodies together. He keeps his hands light; traces the lines of Cecil's shoulders, through his jacket - slides his fingers into the shoulders. Cecil moves easily, beneath his touch. Carlos doesn't drop his gaze, even when Cecil's collar-bones are exposed. He can see them, just below his vision: pale, and pointed, and perfect.

The coat falls to the ground, along with the shirt, and the tie. Carlos takes a moment on that; winding it between his fingers, fiddling with the knot. He can feel his own skin growing red; gently, he rubs one of Cecil's clavicles, brushing over it tentatively.

"Carlos," Cecil says, voice surprisingly hoarse, "Carlos."

"Ssh," Carlos whispers, hands rolling upwards, towards Cecil's throat. The other man's pulse beats, in his neck; if Carlos presses his pinkie down, he can feel it flutter.

Cecil's eyes have flecks of grey, in them. His pupils are blown out. To be honest, he looks a mess - panting and gasping and groaning, and _Carlos, Carlos, Carlos_. Somehow, Carlos doubts he looks much better. He couldn't stop now if he tried - and he isn't trying.

Carlos forces Cecil down, as gently as he can, and runs his hands over him. Cecil's stomach is flat - the layers hide it, normally, but there it is, right before him. Cecil's fingertips probe Carlos's waist - cautiously, as though it's a time bomb, and liable to explode at any given moment. Then again, that could actually happen. It might even be considered likely.

Carlos ducks his head down, and presses their mouths together, his skin tingling and itching and buzzing. Cecil's lips open - Carlos flicks his tongue downwards. Cecil's eyelids flutter, endearingly. Carlos doesn't want to think too deeply about that.

So, he pulls Cecil close, and kisses him - until white spots flash behind his eyes, and he forgets how to breathe, and how Yetis unequivocally do not exist, and how mountains are created by the movements of tectonic plates, hundreds of thousands of years before Night Vale was a dot on a map, and Cecil was born at all.

 

In the afterglow, beneath the sheets, Carlos lies back, soaking in warmth. The peas packet is split open; vegetables have rained down onto the floor. Some of them are stuck in holes. A few are in Cecil's hair. Carlos can see the living-room ones, through the crack in the door.

"In our galaxy, we can only observe a third of the stars. That's around one hundred billion."

Against his side, Cecil snuffles, shuffling nearer. Carlos leans to one side, head falling onto the other man's shoulder.

"When I was a kid, I used to go star gazing," Carlos says. There is a thin sheen of blue, running across the ceiling. It's like they're underwater - robin's egg, as Cecil would say.

"We should go to the Dog Park," is what Cecil _actually_ murmurs. Carlos shifts around, rolling onto his elbow. Cecil's eyes are back-lit. His hair is tinged gold.

"What, now? Why? I thought that wasn't supposed to exist."

Behind him, Cecil shrugs, displacing Carlos slightly. Carlos takes one of his hands, and begins to rub circles into it. Cecil's heartbeat increases.

"It doesn't - but if you get past that, and the _faintly_ ominous humming, it does boast some pretty spectacular views."

"No mountains, then," Carlos grins, into Cecil's goose-bump dotted skin. He hears Cecil shake his head, rather than sees it.

"No. None at all."

Carlos closes his eyes; feels the heat, and the creaking couch, and the whistling of the wind outside. They'll have cleaned the radioactive waste up from the hovercraft, by tomorrow. There's no way he's letting Cecil go near it, anyway. Somehow, he doesn't think that'll stop him.

"But the thing is, I was thinking...even if we did go to the Dog Park - which we couldn't - and even if we could see all the stars visible from Earth - which we can't - then we'd only be seeing a tiny fraction of them. I mean, there are three hundred billion stars in our galaxy alone. In the universe, there could be an infinite number."

Outside, there is a muffled squawk. Cecil is still watching him, though - so, Carlos deems it safe to continue. "And when stars die," he says, "their light can still reach us."

Carlos levers himself upwards, onto his elbows. Cecil grunts. "But with some stars, it can take hundreds of years for their light to travel to us. Even out of the stars we can see, some of them might be dead already - and we'd be able to watch them dying, and we couldn't do anything about it. Imagine! All those stars, way out there, within our grasp - and down here, there's nothing we can do but wait."

Cecil's eyes have closed, again. He lets out a long, breathy sigh. Carlos's mouth snaps shut. "Oh. Sorry. I'm - err, I'm boring you."

"No. Just..." Cecil's waves a spindly hand, towards the ceiling. "Keep going."

Carlos opens his mouth - only a yawn emerges. "Tomorrow," he gets out, "I'll tell you then. If you want."

Cecil nods, again.

"Tomorrow," Cecil repeats. For a while, Carlos thinks that's all he's going to say. There are red spheres, behind his eyelids. They shift, as he watches them - merging into faces, and hoods, and cowls. The room smells of baking powder, and carbon, and ethanol, and safety. The blankets are soft, and Cecil is soft, and everything is so comfortable. Carlos could drift away on it, and never, ever come back.

Then, hushed, comes: "Goodnight, sweet Carlos." And- "Safe dreams."

Carlos turns his head away, and smiles.


End file.
